


jambalaya (please be my baby)

by carol_danvers



Category: Captain Marvel (2019), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Dancing in the Rain, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Don't Ask Don't Tell, F/F, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hair Brushing, Love Confessions, Mutual Pining, Parent Carol Danvers, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pet Names, Pre-Canon, Pre-Captain Marvel (2019), Pregnancy, Pregnant Monica Rambeau, Slow Burn, Useless Lesbians, contains extreme misuse of parentheses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 06:31:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19312561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carol_danvers/pseuds/carol_danvers
Summary: Loving Maria comes easier than anything else ever did. Carol won't say she wants to be more than friends, not when she has so much to lose, but she'll tell her in everything but name.AKA Carol tests out pet names, Maria gets pregnant, and they fall a bit more in love.





	jambalaya (please be my baby)

**Author's Note:**

> quick note for non-american readers: i allude to the "don't ask, don't tell" policy a few times, which was president clinton's fun lil rule that gay people could be in the military as long as they didn't tell anyone and didn't try any funny business. it started in 1993, and was finally repealed in 2011. i think technically the time doesn't quite match up but the timelines in captain marvel overall are fuzzy lmao. 
> 
> quick note on maria: i have this headcannon that maria is creole (she's from louisiana, rambeau is a french last name, etc.), and so that's a thing in this fic. not important to the plot but i thought it was a fun detail-- jambalaya is a common creole meal. (i'm not creole, so if any of this was offensive in any way at all, PLEASE let me know and i'll change it immediately.)

“The sky’s a beautiful color tonight, dove.” 

Maria looked up, one eyebrow raised. “What’re you calling me now?” 

“Dove,” Carol said, joining her on the porch steps. She could feel the tip of her ears burning, but the sunset was dusting over her pale skin and covering up any humility. The light was painted over the two of them like some magnum opus in the Met, a golden splash over Maria’s cheeks. Carol wanted to run her fingers over that skin, press a kiss to her lips. 

But she wasn’t going to ask to do that, she wasn’t going to tell Maria she wanted to. She was only a friend, and she wasn’t here to screw things up between them. Not after so many years of staying quiet about her feelings, just hoping they would go away. 

Maria rolled her eyes, bumping her shoulder against Carol’s arm. “Since when do friends call each other that?” 

“Since I said so,” Carol told her. “I’m trying it out. What do you think?” 

“Sounds weird coming from you,” Maria said. Her voice was heavy with sarcasm, but there was a smile on her lips that Carol loved. She would try out a million pet names if it meant Maria would smile like that. 

“I’ll find something else.” 

“Yeah, good luck with that,” Maria said, smiling towards the ghost of a rising moon. 

Carol shrugged, staring up at the sky. The sun was melting, sending streaks of light reaching across the horizon like outstretched arms. Carol clasped her hands together (she wanted to hold Maria’s hand, she wanted to press lips to her knuckles, kiss the calluses on her fingers). 

“Carol, I got something to tell you.” 

Carol glanced over. “Deathbed confessions before I beat you at rummy tonight?” 

Maria chuckled, ducking her head. She was chewing her words before she said them, Carol could tell, and she knew that meant there was something real bothering her. Something that Carol couldn’t make into a joke without crossing a line. Something neither of them could just brush off the way they did so many serious things. 

“Come on,” Carol said, grinning. She stood up, extending a hand to Maria. “We can talk about it over a game of spit and tequila shots.” 

“You’re an alcoholic,” Maria said, but she took Carol’s hand. Goosebumps ran over Carol’s forearms, and she squeezed Maria’s hand gently. It was the closest she would ever get to walking down the street with fingers interlocked. It was the closest she would ever get to kissing her beat up knuckles.

“I just like the taste of tequila,” Carol told her. “Sue me.” 

Maria rolled her eyes, something worried still edging at her lips. “I’m gonna stick to water tonight.” 

“You okay there, dove?” 

“I told that ‘dove’ wasn’t working,” Maria teased. “And I’m -- I’m just tired.” 

“We’ll skip the tequila then. Still gonna beat you at everything, though. That’s gonna make, like, a hundred games to one.” 

Maria laughed, letting Carol pull her inside. “I won rummy and rat slap last week, don’t get cocky there, Danvers.” 

“Too late,” Carol said. The screen door slammed shut behind them as they walked inside, the floorboards of the porch creaking under their feet. The porch light swung from its string, and a moth darted to and fro. There was something serene about Maria’s childhood house in Louisiana, something that felt more like home than Los Angeles ever had. 

Maria dragged her there to live together whenever they were on extended leave from the force, when they weren’t training or testing out new planes or anything like that. The guest bedroom was more Carol’s bedroom than it was anyone else’s, at this point. It was better than going to her parents, and it was better than staying on base. (She would follow Maria anywhere, Maria wouldn’t ever have to beg, but Carol wasn’t going to say that.) 

They sat at the dining table, the one with one short leg and mismatched wooden chairs. Carol took her place in the chair without a cushion, and Maria in the chair across from the door. Carol liked to stay on her toes, and Maria liked to watch for guests. 

They fit into each other’s pockets like they had known each other for lifetimes, like they had found each other in each reincarnation and body. Sometimes Carol had wondered if there was something to the theory of reincarnation. Sometimes she wondered if this was the life that would get her to Nirvana. 

Maria split the deck to shuffle, fingers effortlessly passing across each card. Carol loved to watch her shuffle, in the smooth and practiced way that came with years of family card game nights. It was nothing like Carol’s own clumsy shuffle, and the collapsing bridge she always attempted with no success. 

“Alright, Danvers,” Maria said, dealing the cards. Carol caught them, shooting a smile over her hand. “Let’s get a move on.” 

Maria always beat her at rummy, having grown up playing with her grandparents every time they visited. She had always been closer to her family that Carol had been, and there was a connection and a history there that Carol would never understand. Maria had traditions and family recipes passed down through the generations, while Carol had a history of daddy issues and a chip on her shoulder. 

She could beat Maria at Go Fish, though, and that was what really mattered anyways. 

“Keep staring,” Maria said, voice deadpan, “it’s not gonna help you win.” 

Carol ducked her head, trying to suppress the blush on her cheeks. Their card game nights were one of the only times that Carol could stare at Maria unabashadley, pretending to analyze the twitch of her lips (God, she wanted a kiss) and the tilt of her eyes (she could get lost in those eyes), for any sign of what her cards were. 

“I beg to differ,” Carol told her. She laid out three cards in a row, grinning. “That’s a straight flush.” 

Maria grinned at her, amusement flickering in her eyes, like she knew something Carol would never understand. “That’s just three of a kind, barely even close to a flush.” 

“Crap,” Carol muttered. “Well it still counts, right?” 

“Sure. But it’s nothing compared to my full house.” 

Carol groaned, sitting back in her chair. “You’re unbeatable.” 

“We’ve been playing for ten minutes,” Maria said, laughing (Carol could write sonnets about that laugh). 

“I don’t understand this game at all.” 

Maria smiled at her, discarding a ten of spades. “It’s basically the same thing as Go Fish and you love that.” 

“Go Fish is easy, though.” Carol took the ten, frowning at her hand. “This is all complicated and adult-ish.” 

“You are also complicated and adult-ish,” Maria reminded her. “Don’t forget to discard.” 

Carol sighed, discarding a three of hearts. She didn’t know if that was smart or not. Maria didn’t give anything away as she played, still giving it her all, even though she practically had a guaranteed win. They played quietly, just the shuffling of the cards and the crickets outside for background noise. Every now and then a car would drive by, wheels groaning against the gravel in the street. It was a more peaceful home than Carol could have ever asked for, with the wind in the trees and Maria’s bare foot flush against her own. 

She ended up losing rummy (another black tally mark on the ever growing list of Maria’s wins), but she won spit, which counted for something. At the end of the year, one of them would get to own the trophy, a little model plane. Carol had won it at the arcade, but she had played on Maria’s quarters, so it had been a ridiculous debate as to who owned it. After a few days of arguing, they came up with their year long card game tournament. Maria was the current owner, but Carol thought maybe this was her lucky year. 

She went to bed with a smile on her face, and fell asleep dreaming of Maria laughing. They were in a sunflower field, holding hands among flowers so tall it masked their feelings. The sun made Maria’s skin a golden color, and Carol could run her lips over Maria’s wrists the way she had always wanted to, and no one could tell her it was wrong. 

The dream was a portrait of longing, something hung in a museum Carol couldn’t afford to visit. A masterpiece in unrequited love. It was one of those dreams that you didn’t want to let go of, one of those dreams that you were sad to wake up from. She laid in bed for an hour before getting up, trying to fall back into the reverie where Maria loved her like a wife did.

When she got up, Maria was curled up on the couch, reading a biography about Amelia Earheart. She had a quilt tucked around her, the sleeves of her sweatshirt pulled past her wrists. Carol ached at the sight of her, every inch of her soul wanting to reach out and curl around Maria until they were a comma and a period. 

“Morning,” she said, yawning. 

Maria glanced up, a smile already tracing across her face. “It’s noon.” 

Carol shrugged, sitting down in the armchair next to Maria. She pulled her knees close to her chest. “Then why am I still tired?” 

“Scientists may never know,” Maria said. “Though the prevailing theory is that you went to bed at three in the morning.” 

“It was 2:30, but okay.” Carol smiled through her drowsiness, watching Maria through half shut eyes. 

“Not better.” Maria nodded towards the kitchen. “Coffee might have gotten cold, but it’s there if you want to heat it up on the stove.” 

Carol nodded, stretching her arms out. “You’re a blessing.” 

“Oh, I know.” 

Carol made her way to the kitchen, clicking the answering machine as she heated up the coffee and popped two pieces of bread in the toaster. No one could say she wasn’t self sufficient. She went through the messages, barely deciphering them over the static. 

There wasn't any good reception in Louisiana, but Carol didn’t mind. It made the whole place feel like an isolated world, somewhere far away from all the broken things in the rest of the country. They didn’t have to worry about sexism or racism or homophobia or war or violence here in their little house in the woods. The biggest problem here was a chocolate stain on a pillow and the mosquito bite that Maria itched until it bled.

Her coffee and toast finished, and Carol sat back down on the couch next to Maria. The draft in the house was always a little bitter in the morning, but the humidity said it was shaping up to be one of those hot days, when the heat stuck to your skin like a membrane of sweat, and the sun seemed to claw through the sunscreen to burn you. 

“My mom wants me home for my birthday,” Carol said, sipping slowly at the coffee. It burnt her tongue, but she didn’t mind. “How do I politely tell her to fuck off?” 

Maria dog eared the page she was on, closing the book. “Tell her you’re busy.” 

“But I’m not busy,” Carol said, sighing. “She’ll see right through me. She always does.” 

“Mmm, you are busy, though. You’re celebrating with me.” 

“Oh yeah? What’re we doing?” 

Maria thought about it, smoothing out the quilt. “Well, first, we’re gonna sleep in real late. Late enough that the Doc would fire us both, since she’s not here to say anything about it.” She took one of the slices of toast and ripped off a corner, popping it into her own mouth. Carol pouted, but didn’t make any move to stop her.

“We’re gonna have coffee cake for breakfast, from the bakery you like,” Maria continued. “And I’ll give you a present I picked out of the New Orleans tourist gift shop that morning.” 

“You always did get the best gifts,” Carol said, snorting. 

Maria grinned at her. “Don’t you know it. For the rest of the day, we’re gonna do a marathon of Robert De Niro movies, because those are the cheapest ones in the Blockbuster. And we’re only going to eat foods with the word ‘cake’ in them.” 

“How many possible foods can there be?” 

“Ooh,” Maria laughed, “you have no idea. We’re gonna have cupcakes, fruitcakes, pancakes, pound cakes, oatcakes, cheesecakes --”

“Alright, alright,” Carol said. “I get the point, and I’m absolutely down for that. I’m telling my mom I’m busy eating her least favorite food and watching her least favorite actor.” 

“She’s gonna love that.”

“I exist to disappoint her,” Carol told her, not bothering to mask the resentment in her words. She couldn’t put one name to why she didn’t get along with either of her parents-- maybe it was the constant criticism or the doubt or the disinterest or the expectations or any of the other numerous flaws in their parenting-- but whatever it was, Carol preferred to stay far away from all of it. This secret hide away in Louisiana was a safer home than her parents ever had been, and she didn’t plan on leaving it. 

“You’re a regular rebel,” Maria told her. She squeezed Carol’s knee, a comfort in every word she spoke, whether or not she meant it that way. (It wasn’t the cabin in Louisiana that was her safe place, it was Maria Rambeau.) 

Carol smiled between sips of her coffee. “Thanks, honey.” 

“Yeah, that’s a no-go on that one too,” Maria told her. She tugged at the corner of the quilt, pulling at a loose thread. It was her favorite quilt, one that Carol had bought from a local artist for an absurd amount of money, and that was softer than anything else she owned. “I really don’t see what this sudden game of yours is.” 

Carol shrugged. “I’m just trying things out. Want me to stop?” 

“Find me a good pet name,” Maria said, “and I’ll consider being happy about it.” 

“Deal.” 

Maria grinned at her. “I’m gonna work on the addition to the house a bit more today. Want to help?” 

“It’s gonna be a hot day,” Carol warned her (not that she was going to complain about seeing Maria with her white tank top and sweat on her collarbones). “You really want to subject yourself to that?” 

“It’s gonna be a beautiful day,” Maria said, pulling the quilt back and setting the book on a side table. Carol sipped at her coffee, watching Maria stand over the rim of the cup. “We’re gonna finish getting the walls up.” 

“Are we now?” 

“Absolutely,” Maria said, an air of confidence as she stretched her back. “I’m just gonna get dressed and then we’re gonna start.” 

“Will you make jambalaya for me if I help you?” 

Maria chuckled. “Sure.” 

Carol finished her coffee, eventually making her way outside to where Maria had already started. She was constantly doing something with her hands, whether it was putting up walls or modifying old planes or fixing the leak in the sink in the kitchen. It was one of the things that Carol loved best about her-- the endless dedication and drive for each project, and the way that she completely embraced the grease and grime of working with her hands. 

She helped Maria haul up new supports for the new room she was building, nailing and hammering things into support beams and framework. Carol didn’t really understand how to build a house from the ground up, but Maria seemed to know what she was doing, and she trusted her.

The sun beat down on them as they worked, beams of heat cascading up and down the backs of their necks. Sweat dripped down their skin, and Carol watched as the muscles in Maria’s back tensed. Their break for lunch was quick, and the work was long, but Carol wasn’t tiring of standing next to Maria. 

She was singing along to the radio, her eyes bright as she hammered in another nail. 

“Clock strikes upon the hour,” Maria sang under her breath, a smile a ghost at her eyes. 

“And the sun begins to fade,” Carol joined in, laughing quietly. “Dance with me, Maria.” 

Maria laughed, throwing a smile over her shoulder. “I’ll pass on that one.” 

“I wanna dance with somebody,” Carol sang, spinning Maria around. She took the hammer from Maria’s hand, setting it in the grass. “I wanna feel the heat with somebody -- ”

Maria let Carol drag her to a clearing free from the nails and wooden planks, slowly moving their hands back and forth. “Danvers, I swear.” 

“I wanna dance with somebody…” Carol pulled the two of them into something that vaguely resembled dancing, pumping their arms back and forth, swaying from foot to foot. “With somebody who loves me -- sing with me!” 

There was a thin layer of radio white noise under the song, but Maria finally joined Carol in singing, her voice rising above the rusted audio. Carol spun them into a waltz, lifting her hand and spinning Maria around. She laughed as the two of them danced, feet almost slipping on the grass and backs burning under the sun. 

There was no one there to watch them, to judge them, as they spun around, singing as they moved. There was no one there to claw their way into this moment, a moment that Carol was going to hold tight to her chest for the rest of her life. As long as she loved Maria (and that was going to be past their next life), she would keep this moment close to her chest. 

The song was fading when the rain collapsed onto them, as if the weather had been waiting for the moment to end before it began to pour. 

Maria gave a shout of surprise, breaking off into a laugh as she lifted her head into the rain. “I was gonna build my house today,” she yelled at the clouds. 

Carol burst into laughter, hands and fingers splayed out, catching the raindrops. “Maria,” she groaned, drawing out the words. “It’s raining.” 

“No shit, Sherlock,” Maria said, grinning at her. “My house is never gonna get built.” 

“We’ll do it tomorrow,” Carol promised between her laughs. The rain was pasting itself to her skin, catching on her eyelashes and lips. She grabbed Maria’s hand, and the two made for the house, feet sliding against the rivers in the grass, but fingers tightly interlocked. 

Carol didn’t let go of Maria’s hand until the screen door had slammed shut behind them. Their clothes were soaked through, and Carol could see the outline of Maria’s bra where the tank top was plastered to her chest. She averted her eyes, pulling her hair back into a bun. 

“At least it’s not hot anymore,” Maria said, wiping the rain off of her face. 

“Yeah, but now it’s wet,” Carol groaned. Her hair was dripping onto the floor, and the two of them were standing in a rapidly growing puddle. 

Maria grinned at her, pulling off her shoes. “Go dry off, Danvers. I’m gonna shower and then I’ll make us the jambalaya.” 

“Finally,” Carol said, shaking the water off of her hands. “God is giving me my reward.” 

“Uh-uh,” Maria told her, starting to walk away. Her socks squelched against the tiles as she moved, and Carol smiled inwardly. “I’m giving you your reward, God has got nothing to do with it.” 

Carol just laughed, listening to the rhythm of her heart as Maria walked away. 

An hour later, Carol was towel drying her hair in her bedroom, tugging the water out of the strands with a rough vigor that made her scalp itch. 

“Knock, knock,” Maria said, knocking against the doorframe. 

“Hm?” 

Maria smiled at her as Carol looked up. “Your hair is getting long again,” she said, walking over to Carol. She took the towel out of Carol’s hands, setting it next to the bed where she sat down. She picked up the brush, untangling the strands with her fingers for a second before she set the brush to work. “You gonna cut it soon?” 

“I was thinking of growing it out,” Carol said, closing her eyes. Maria was gentle as she pulled the brush through Carol’s hair, untangling the bigger knots with her fingers. 

“That’d look pretty,” Maria said. She ran her fingers through the brushed sections, tugging just slightly. “But I think you’d look pretty however you wear your hair.” 

Carol flushed, biting her lip. She didn’t want to push this moment, take it any farther than Maria wanted, but she wanted to stay like this with Maria for as long as she could. “Thanks, darling.” 

“Not sure about that one,” Maria said, but it sounded choked. She pulled the brush through Carol’s hair again, moving in long, even lines. “Can I braid your hair?” 

“Sure.” 

The bed dipped slightly as Maria leaned forward, pulling all of the hair back into her hands. Carol could feel Maria’s breath on her skin, and she shivered under the ghost of a touch. She wanted more than that, she wanted Maria to touch her with strength, she wanted Maria to kiss the back of her neck, to run her lips down her spine. She swallowed down the thoughts, though, just sinking into the feeling of Maria’s hands untangling her hair. 

“You got a hair elastic?” 

Carol pulled one off her wrist, passing it back to Maria, who tied off the end of the braid. 

“Thank you,” Carol said, smiling. She didn’t look backwards, didn’t want Maria to see the blush leftover on her cheeks. 

Maria squeezed Carol’s shoulders (both of them were smiling where the other couldn’t see). “Come sit in the kitchen with me while I make the jambalaya.” 

“Right behind you,” Carol told her, watching Maria stand up to leave. She moved with confidence, practiced from years of hoping Carol would watch her leave (Carol always did). 

When Carol joined Maria in the kitchen a few moments later, she was already tossing spices into a pot, the stove clicking on. She was humming as she worked, and Carol smiled as she hoisted herself up on the kitchen island to watch Maria from behind. 

“What’re you singing over there?” she asked, tapping at the marble.

“A song my mamm used to sing to me when I was a kid,” Maria told her. “I forget the name of it, but I think it’s in French.” 

“Feeling nostalgic today?” 

Maria tapped the wooden spoon against the pot, a light sound against the whistle of the stove’s flames. She turned around, wiping her hands against an old rag that hung on the oven door. “Something like that.” 

“Oh?” Carol crossed her ankles, swinging her legs slowly. They were both private people, and for as much that they shared with each other, they were both intimately aware of all the things they didn’t share (and all the feelings they didn’t want to say out loud). 

“Carol, I -- I gotta tell you something.” Maria bit her lip, putting the rag down on the counter next to the stove. “I didn’t get around to it, the other day, but I -- it’s important.” 

“What’s up, babe?” 

Maria snorted, her cheeks heating up. “That one’s actually remarkably appropriate for the situation.” 

Carol stared at her. Seconds on the oven timer clicked by, the soft sizzle of the pot white noise beneath Carol’s racing thoughts. 

“Still with me?” Maria asked, carefully watching Carol’s slack face, waiting for a reaction. She knew every tell in the crease of her eyes, but this pure shock was something new. 

“Wait, am I understanding this right?” Carol paused, knuckles white as she gripped the counter she sat on. “You’re?” 

Maria gave her a small smile, stepping forward to take Carol’s hands in her own. She squeezed them gently, a pulse of love. “I’m pregnant.” 

“Oh my God,” Carol said, voice cracking. “You’re gonna have a baby?” 

“Yeah,” Maria said. She was still smiling, that small and brave smile that Carol had always wanted to hold onto and never let go of. The smile that made her want to kiss Maria with everything she had, forgetting about air and law and fear. She couldn’t though, especially not now, when Maria was pregnant with some man’s child. 

“Who’s the dad?” Carol asked, as soon as she had recovered from the news. “Are you -- are you going to get married or leave the force or -- or -- ”

Maria laughed, holding up one of their clasped hands. “I haven’t gotten that far ahead yet. You’re the only person I’ve told, except him.” 

Carol grinned, hoping there was some of Maria’s bravery leftover on her lips. She was going to need some, if she were to get through this without collapsing inwardly about how Maria would be replacing her. “I’m honored.”

“Yeah,’ Maria sighed, a smile still lingering on her lips. “I’m not sure what to do now. The house isn’t done yet, and I don’t have the money for a baby, and Goddamn, giving birth is gonna be painful.” 

“You’re gonna do great,” Carol told her. “What did the dad say?” 

Maria shook her head. “He wants nothing to do with me. It was a one night stand gone wrong, you know? He doesn’t need his life completely turned upside down because he made a mistake at Pancho’s one night.” 

“Well, you don’t need him anyways,” Carol said decisively. “You’re gonna have so much other support without him.” 

“Yeah?” 

“You know I’m gonna help you however I can.” Carol smiled at her before continuing. “And your parents love you so much, they’ll be here for you in every way.” 

Maria released her hands, picking up her glass of water. She didn’t meet Carol’s eyes. “You’re gonna help out?” 

“Of course.” 

“You know I won’t be able to do the things I used to. For nine months, there’s no getting drunk or drinking coffee or working out or going on rollercoasters or -- ”

Carol shook her head. “I don’t care. I’m gonna stick around, Maria Rambeau.” 

“God, I love you, Carol,” Maria blurted out, her words blunt and honest. 

Carol flushed, ducking her head. Her heart was skipping beats, and she tried to swallow down every butterfly in her throat (she didn’t mean it like that, she didn’t mean it like that, she’s gotta keep her smile under control). “Love you too, babe.”

“Again with the pet names,” Maria said, rolling her eyes. But she was holding back a smile as she stood up again. “Your dinner is burning.” 

Carol smiled at her, watching her turn back to the stove. The pregnancy wouldn’t change anything. She would support Maria, through and through, just as she had always done. If she was being real, she loved children, and Maria would be an amazing parent. She hoped there was still time for the two of them. 

Maria finished the jambalaya, serving Carol too much for one person to eat. She ate all of it anyways, laughing through bites of the meal. She was the best cook Carol knew, and Carol wasn’t planning on wasting any of it. 

The leftovers always lasted for a few days, though it never tasted quite the same heated up. It was one of her favorite meals, at this point. It tasted like the way Maria laughed over drinks, and the way that she smiled when Carol complimented her cooking. It tasted like the way the crickets sang in the dark, and the sound of the gravel crackling under the weight of the cars that drove by. It smelled like Maria brushing her hair and her fingers brushing across the back of her neck. It tasted the way that being at home felt. 

They tried to keep things the same, once Carol had learned about the pregnancy. They were still the best friends they had always been-- reading in the morning and playing card games at night. But the little things still changed. Carol did the heavy lifting while they worked on the new addition, now, while Maria did the hammering and whatnot. They drank sparkling water and tea instead of vodka and coffee. Maria read books on raising children instead of Amelia Earheart. 

Maria threw up, more mornings than not. The two would spend hours in the bathroom, with Maria’s head bowed and hands gripping the toilet seat. Carol rubbed her back gently, trying to massage all of the stress away. 

“You okay?” Carol asked one morning, as Maria sat up again. 

Maria took a deep breath, slumping against her friend. “I feel gross.” 

“Well you still look good, Mama.” 

“God,” Maria laughed, wiping at her mouth with a piece of toilet paper. “Don’t call me that yet. I’m not anywhere near ready for that step.” 

“You’re gonna have to own it eventually,” Carol reminded her. “That book I read said it’s better to start planning earlier than later.” 

“Why’re you reading books about pregnancy?” 

Carol blushed, moving her hand away from Maria’s back (Maria missed the weight of it, but she wasn’t going to say that). “I wanted to support you and all that. You know.” 

“Thanks,” Maria said, smiling. “That means a lot to me.” 

“I aim to please,” Carol told her. “You feeling good enough to move to the couch?” 

“Sure.” 

The two of them did a lot of lying down, whenever they could. When there were things to do, groceries to buy and walls to paint and dinners to cook, Maria would stay on the couch while Carol was working. She wasn’t supposed to be inhaling paint, Carol said, and she wasn’t supposed to be doing anything strenuous. Maria wasn’t sure where Carol got the idea that she was helpless, but it was comforting to know Carol was there, taking care of her. So she did a lot of lying down, pulling Carol down with her whenever she could. 

They ate dinner outside, one night, sitting on the porch in their bare feet and jean shorts. They had gotten rid of the porch furniture -- Carol saying that it was on the verge of breaking and she wouldn’t have a pregnant woman sitting on rusty chairs -- but hadn’t replaced it yet, so they just sat on the floorboards. It wasn’t uncomfortable, not with Carol’s arm around her shoulders. Maria could sink into that touch for centuries and never ache from it. 

It had begun to rain, pouring down in sheets. The porch roof kept them dry, but they could see the water quickly drenching the rest of the yard. A cool breeze came with it to break up the humidity, Carol rubbing Maria’s arm to keep the goosebumps away. 

“I’m scared,” Maria said, letting the rain mask her words, covering them with blankets and a layer of white noise. 

Carol squeezed her arm. “What of?” 

“Being a mother, I guess.” Maria swallowed, picking at her nails.

“You’re gonna be a great mother,” Carol told her, looking over. She was shorter than Maria, but they found each other’s eyes with the ease of people who never wanted to break contact. “I already know it. Being loving is in your bones.” 

Maria smiled at her. “Maybe. Thank you. For sticking with me. Doing all of the things that you have.” 

“I want to,” Carol said, smiling. A poppy seed from her breakfast-for-dinner bagel was stuck between her front teeth. “That child is gonna love me, or so help me God.” 

Maria laughed, throwing back her head. “They really are gonna love you. You’ll be the best damn non-blood-related aunt any kid could ask for.” 

“Just try and stop me.” 

“I wouldn’t ever want to,” Maria told her. 

Carol smiled to herself, feeling the familiar gaze of Maria’s eyes on her face. She wanted a kiss, she wanted a smile, she wanted something warmer than this, but she wouldn’t ask for it. Maria had more important things to worry about than her best friend falling in love with her. Maybe one day, one day she would confess and beg for forgiveness, but until then, she would just toe the line. 

“You’re gonna be a great mom,” she said again, softer this time. “It’s gonna be great, baby.” 

Maria didn’t protest at the pet name. “Nerd,” she said back, kindly. 

“You love it.” 

“You’re lucky I do.” 

Carol chuckled, leaning back on her hands. The floorboards creaked as she shifted, like old knees in the rain. She watched the clouds move across the sky, slow and lazy. They had nowhere else to be, they were just drifting along their path, meandering around the horizon until they disappeared. 

She felt a bit like that-- like she had wandered her whole life, rushing across the sky until she realized there was no end in sight, realized that there was nothing but the now, nothing but enjoying where she was. She had darted through high school and the academy and up the ranks and realized that she could climb as high as she wanted and it would never be enough. Nothing would be enough until she was happy with slowing down. 

She wasn’t sure when she had learned that, or if she even fully understood it yet. All she knew was that the clouds were moving slow that night, and Maria was pressed against her arm, and this was where she was meant to be. 

She still wanted to fly her planes and she still wanted to explore the galaxies, but this? This quiet peace, this home in Louisiana, the smell of jambalaya still on her lips, the warmth of Maria’s body, this was better than enough. This love hadn’t been part of the plan, but it was the best part of the future. 

“I used to want to be an astronaut,” Carol said, not sure where that memory had come from. 

Maria didn’t question it. “I used to want to be a pirate.” 

“If we had been born in the next century,” Carol said, a smile gathering at her lips, “we could’ve been space pirates.” 

“That’s the dream life,” Maria said, laughing. The rain was slowing to a drizzle. “It must be amazing, up there in space. Sailing through the stars. God, imagine how beautiful they are.” 

“Not as beautiful as you, my love,” Carol murmured, so dark under her breath and the mist and the moon that she wasn’t sure if Maria could hear her. She wasn’t sure if she wanted her to have heard. 

Maria shook her head, turning away. It took her a moment before she responded, but there was no teasing laugh in her voice when she did. “Don’t do that, Carol.” 

“Why not?” Carol asked, swallowing down the aching fear that was in her throat. This was it, this was the line she had crossed, the step she had taken too far, too close. This was her asking for too much, and this was Maria telling her to back off or get out. 

Maria was silent, just watching the whisper of the trees’ movement. The fabric of time and space was rippling above them, slowly collapsing like cut ribbons. She bit her bottom lip, as if deciding how easily to let Carol down.

“It hurts,” she finally said. “It hurts when you call me these things, but don’t mean them.” 

Carol’s heart stopped. It had been preparing for this moment for so long, the let down and the tears, and -- it wasn’t coming how she had expected. There was a tension in Maria’s words that had never been there before.

“What?” she asked, dumbfounded. 

Maria shook her head, cutting Carol off before she could finish. “You mean them like a best friend does. And that’s great, hell knows I’m not gonna complain about having you as a best friend. But -- and I’m not gonna sugarcoat it, because that’s not me, you know that -- but it hurts. When all you are is a friend.” 

Carol gaped, the stars and rain filling her eyes and lips with something silver and serene. Maria just smiled at her, all the bravery in the world soaked between her teeth. This was how Carol had always loved Maria best, with a smile and a confidence and courage that no one else could replicate. 

“Maria,” she whispered. Her voice cracked. 

Maria shrugged, standing up. She rested a hand on her stomach, where she had begun to show a bump a week ago. “I’m gonna go get ready for bed.” 

She left the porch, the screen door slamming shut with a crack as she walked inside. Carol could hear her humming something as she made her way through the house. She stared at the trees, their shadows seeming to be just as stunned as she was. 

All the years of longing had been building up to this moment-- standing next to Maria, bumping their hips or shoulders, kissing her cheek like best friends did, smiling at her when she couldn’t see it, dreaming of her when she wasn’t there-- it had all been building up to a breaking point where should would confess and Maria would reject her. 

Maria wasn’t supposed to ask and Carol wasn’t supposed to tell, and they were supposed to just live in silence while Carol’s heart broke over and over again. But-- this wasn’t part of Clinton’s Air Force regulations. This wasn’t part of the code between best friends. This wasn’t part of Carol’s carefully planned implorations for forgiveness for falling in love. 

This was something new and it wasn’t quite processing and-- Maria wanted something more than what they had. Something more than friends. 

Carol stared at the clouds, and the wind was pushing them forwards, towards the house. Carol scrambled inside. 

She found Maria in her bedroom, taking out her earrings in the mirror. There was something sad in her expression, something that Carol had caught in her eyes before but never understood. Now she did-- it was a heartsickness that Carol knew all too well. 

“Maria,” she said, stepping into the room. Space and time were still rippling with the weight of Maria’s confession, and Carol’s heart was ricocheting between her ribcage and her lungs. 

“We don’t have to talk about it ever again,” Maria told her, placing the earrings in a small box. Carol had gotten her that box for her birthday a few years ago, when they had first been getting to know each other. She hadn’t realized Maria had held on to it through the years. 

“What if I want to talk about it?” 

Maria glanced at her for a moment, before laughing under her breath. “Don’t pretend to feel something you don’t, Carol. Just because I -- ”

“I’m not pretending.” She stepped forward, hand finding Maria’s arm, running her fingers down to her wrist. She swallowed down the nerves flickering around her veins. She knew all of Maria’s curves and edges, she had memorized all of the corners and lines from endless hours of glancing over one shoulder, from the countless years of wanting and never taking. 

Maria froze, lips parted slightly. “Carol…” 

“I -- I want this,” Carol said quietly, voice hoarse and unpracticed. She had never thought in a million years that she could ask and Maria would give. She pulled at Maria’s wrist slightly, and she turned around, their eyes meeting. 

Maria swallowed, biting her tongue. She was half a head taller than Carol, and she slowly moved her hands to Carol’s waist, as if moving too fast would make her disappear. They were closer than they had ever been before, and Carol couldn’t feel her own heart, but she could feel Maria’s breath. 

The two of them had always been sure about everything, quick to move, and confident in every decision they made. But this was something new and unknown. Something that could break so easily. 

“Are you sure?” Maria asked. “Do you understand what you’re doing?” 

Carol smiled at her, and there was sunlight in her chest. “I understand.” 

She reached up and kissed her and everything went blank. 

The clouds and the rain and time itself were all stopping just for them, for the two of them to find each other in this bedroom. The floorboards creaked as Maria leaned into the kiss. Carol’s fingers were hard on her cheeks, but she couldn’t bring herself to care about things as small as an ache.

Carol squeezed her eyes shut, as if maybe opening them would take away this dream. This was it, the greediest thing that Carol had ever done, taking Maria all for herself, holding her this close and not caring enough about anything to let go. But this was also the most natural thing she had ever done. Her lips were made for kissing Maria, her tongue had been made to find her best friend’s mouth, her waist had been made for Maria to hold. 

They parted and Carol kept her eyes brushed close for just a moment. (If she opened them, would Maria still be there?)

She opened her eyes, and Maria was there, and all the bravery etched into the lines of her face could stare down the Devil himself. She dropped her hands to Maria’s shoulders, wrapping her arms around the taller woman. 

“Was that okay?” Carol asked, tilting her head slightly. She could taste Maria’s lips on hers, the shadow of a touch leftover from a kiss that left her heart shaking. 

Maria smiled. “More than okay, baby.”


End file.
